


won't you put my hands to work

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, hopeless college student!Babe, paramedic!Gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babe’s heart is in his throat, and Gene’s is in his eyes. Babe can’t look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't you put my hands to work

**Author's Note:**

> exams, what exams? *laugh track*
> 
> title from boy & bear's _a moment's grace_. please, do yourself a favour, and go and listen to every single one of their songs. you won't regret it.
> 
> unbeta'd, based upon the hbo portrayals of easy company, not the real men. no disrespect intended.

Babe swears the fire wasn’t his fault. This time, at least. He’d checked and double-checked and triple-checked that the stove was switched off before going to bed; no fucking _way_ did he set the alarm off tonight.

Yes, okay, this _has_ happened before, and yes, okay, those couple times it _might_ have been an error on Babe’s part, but he’s moved on since then. He’s a certified adult now, he can drink and everything. No _way_ was it him this time.

Probably, anyway.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, Heffron,” comes a familiar voice Babe hasn’t heard in a little over a month. “What was it this time, huh? Left the oven on? Didn’t put out your cigarette? No, no, wait, I got it—tried to light a bonfire in the bathtub.”

“That was one time!” Babe folds his arms petulantly, but knows he won’t stay angry for long. Gene’s soft, husky laughter and his syrupy Cajun accent would be enough to make ice melt, and Babe’s never denied that. Instead, he just lets a begrudging smile worm across his lips, and gets his reward in the way Gene’s eyes sparkle in response. “It wasn’t me this time, I swear.”

Gene shakes his head and comes closer to Babe, clicking on his flashlight and shining it into Babe’s eyes. “And here I was, thinkin’ you missed me.” He clicks off the flashlight and tugs Babe over to the low brick wall circling the dorm, sitting him down to check for burns.

“M’fine,” Babe mumbles, able to smell Gene’s shampoo because he’s leaning in so close. He fidgets for a moment or two, avoiding Gene’s gaze, before letting the words hovering on the skin of his lips spill out into the open. “I did miss you. Just didn’t think you’d be too impressed if I set the place on fire to let you know.”

Gene finishes his examination and rocks back on his haunches, looking up at Babe. The moon is almost full tonight, and there’s no cloud cover to speak off, so Gene’s face is illuminated with an ethereal, soft glow. He looks other-worldly, with his inky-dark hair and milk-pale skin. His lips are slightly blue with cold. Babe wants to kiss them warm again. “Missed you too,” Gene finally answers, his voice small and quiet. He looks like he’s about to say something else, something _more_ , but before he can he’s being called over by one of the firefighters. He flashes Babe an apologetic smile before jogging away, the dark blue of his paramedic uniform easy to spot against the reddish-gold glow of the dying fire. Babe lets out a shaky sigh that’s full of all the words he can never quite find the courage to tell Gene. It’s been like this for as long as they’ve known each other: hesitation, words left unsaid, inopportune moments and too many distractions. What Babe wouldn’t give for a quiet moment alone with Gene, a moment not dominated by a backdrop of smoke and ash and flashing sirens.

Babe sighs again. That’s what he gets for falling for a paramedic.

 

 

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Babe finds it hard to keep his eyes open during his lectures the next day. Professor Dike’s toneless voice is trying enough after a regular sleep cycle, but after only three hours in bed, it turns into a veritable drone. Babe only manages to stay awake because of Bill’s annoying habit of tapping his pen against the plastic of the chair. Otherwise, Babe would’ve drifted off during the first ten minutes of class.

Come lunch time, Babe knows that unless he gets a double espresso into him, he won’t survive the rest of the day. Bill is kind enough to drop him off at a coffee shop off-campus, where the brew doesn’t taste like lukewarm dishwater. Babe waits in line impatiently, money jingling in his hand, so focused upon getting his coffee that he jumps a good three inches into the air when he feels a tap on his shoulder. “Didn’t take you for th’organic coffee sort, Heffron,” a familiar voice says behind him. “Weren’t you cookin’ ramen when you first set the place on fire?”

When Babe turns around, he can’t help but do a double-take at how _good_ Gene looks. The paramedic uniform was pretty flattering, especially so when Babe got to watch Gene jog away in it, but it was also the same uniform all the other guys wore, and Babe had never really imagined Gene in anything different. A plain white t-shirt and khakis isn’t all that ground-breaking, but in the buttery midday sunshine Gene looks like a goddamn angel. Babe has to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying so.

“I’ll have you know that ramen contains all the essential vitamins for student life,” Babe huffs, mock-angrily.

“My ‘pologies.” Gene glances over Babe’s shoulder towards the front counter. “What’re you orderin’?”

“Double espresso. To keep me awake, you know, thanks to the idiot freshman last night who set the basement on fire.”

Gene rolls his eyes. “You’ve been that idiot a fair few times yourself, as I recall.” He then pushes past Babe in the line and steps up to the counter. “Flat white and a double espresso, thanks.” As Babe stands there, uncomprehending, the barista asks for a name. Gene’s gaze flickers back to Babe, before he smirks and answers, “Edward.” Fucking _typical_. When he steps away from the counter towards an empty table, Babe follows.

“The fuck, Gene?” he says eloquently, dropping down into his seat. “I didn’t ask you to buy my coffee.”

“Despite what you may think, I don’t always do what you say.” When Babe doesn’t stop frowning, Gene sighs. “I wanted to, a’right? Quit complainin’.” Gene’s heavy gaze falls on Babe, who looks away quickly. His heart is jack-rabbiting in his chest. It feels like it might beat right out of his skin.

“This a date, Gene?” he makes himself ask quietly, not sure if it’ll be heard because of the hustle and bustle of the cafe, but unable to say the words any louder for fear of rejection. He forces his gaze upwards to where Gene is still looking at him, eyes big and round and blue and slightly smile-crinkled in the corners.

“Well, that depends,” Gene says slowly, not blinking or fidgeting or anything. Babe swallows around the sudden obstruction in his throat.

“On what?” he croaks out.

“You.” The word is said with such a simple clarity, such an air of casualness, that it would be easy to assume Gene isn’t at all nervous. Babe knows better. He can see it in the pale shine of sweat across Gene’s brow, in the almost-imperceptible shake of his hands as they rest on the tabletop. Knowing that Gene is just as anxious as Babe is makes it easier, somehow. Like a reassurance that he isn’t alone in this—whatever _this_ is.

It is in that moment, the space between Gene’s admittance and Babe’s answer, that the barista calls out their order. “Edward!” Gene jumps and breaks eye contact, moving to stand, but suddenly Babe can’t bear to see him leave. He reaches out across the table, grabs one of Gene’s hands in both of his own, and squeezes gently. Gene glances up, and Babe wishes he could freeze this moment forever: just the two of them, poised in stillness, like flies caught in amber. Babe’s heart is in his throat, and Gene’s is in his eyes. Babe can’t look away.

“Yes,” he says simply, on an exhale that lets out all the butterflies in his stomach. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” With each _yes_ Gene’s smile grows, so Babe keeps saying it, keeps saying it until it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore, until it becomes more like a feeling, an affirmation which settles deep into Babe’s bones and burrows under Gene’s skin. He keeps saying it as Gene pulls him to his feet, grabs a fistful of Babe’s shirt in his hand, and tugs him over the tabletop until their lips meet in a clumsy, sleepy, anxious kiss.

Babe kisses Gene until his lips feel numb, until that _yes_ has been well and truly tattooed onto them both. Only then do they pull away slowly, almost shyly, foreheads pressed against each other’s as they breathe in the same air. “Been wantin’ to do that since I first patched you up,” Gene murmurs, smiling. “Thought, _this kid’ll be the death o’ me._ And you were. Are.”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Babe begins, before remembering with a jolt that they’re standing in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, and are very likely making a scene. He huffs out an embarrassed laugh and reluctantly steps away from the warmth of Gene, feeling a blush rise up in his cheeks and not caring one bit. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, grabbing Gene’s hand again and lacing their fingers together. The bell over the door gives a friendly jingle as they exit, and it’s only once they’ve well and truly left the cafe behind does Babe realise that they never even picked up their coffees. To his surprise, however, he finds that he doesn’t really care.

In this moment, with the sun beating down on his back and a summer breeze whipping his hair into a halo, with Gene by his side and the taste of him on his lips, Babe’s never felt quite so awake, or quite so alive. It’s a feeling unaffected by caffeine, a feeling he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, and as his heart thrums a hummingbird’s flight pattern against his ribs, he realises that he doesn’t really _want_ to forget, either. Judging by the look on Gene’s face, he feels the exact same way.

Maybe that freshman wasn’t such an idiot, after all.


End file.
